###2

"Wow, did I hear that right? You love that Edmund guy so much, and now you’re offering your shares to me?"

The man's deep voice rose by two pitches, laced with disbelief, and when I stayed silent, he let out a low chuckle.

"Then I’ll gladly accept. But in return, I’ve got a big gift for you, Victoria. How about signing a lifelong contract with me?"

"Aren’t you into traveling? As it happens, I’ve just invested in a large-scale travel show. I’m still looking for the perfect host."

I froze. "But I’m old now, and my image—"

Edmund cut me off. "It’s never too late to begin again, especially when you’re only fifty-five. Back then, Victoria was the brightest, most dazzling host to come out of an Ivy League university."

He didn’t ask what I’d gone through. As if everything was already within his grasp, his tone allowed no room for refusal.

"Forget that washed-up Stephen and look ahead. I’ll come get you when I’m back from this trip."

Honestly, he was still just as overbearing as he had been in his youth.

A few seconds later, I let out a long sigh. "Alright. I accept, Edmund."

Yes, my life was only beginning, and this time, I would finally live it for myself.

Stephen didn’t come home that night.

Early the next morning, he called and asked me to bring breakfast to the company. "Make sure it’s a double portion. We have a guest."

He never liked anyone else’s cooking. For the past thirty years, whether I was running a fever, had insomnia, or just felt unwell, I still got up in the rain or cold to cook for him.

An hour and a half later, I opened the door to Stephen’s office, only to see Eleanor standing there in an elegant champagne-colored blazer and pencil skirt.

At her feet lay my favorite painting, roughly torn and scattered in shreds across the floor.

In the spot where it had once hung proudly, there now stood a new sculpture.

My mind froze for several seconds. Then, unable to hold back the fire in my chest, I shouted, "Who did this? That was my painting!"

Eleanor widened her eyes with an innocent look, then lightly covered her mouth.

"Oh no, I thought it was just some worthless junk, it looked so ugly. I gave Stephen my own piece instead. Sorry, Victoria, I’ll make it up to you with a new one."

But that was the only painting Stephen and I had ever completed together during a trip we once called our most precious memory.

Stephen, flipping through documents at his desk, didn’t even glance in my direction. He walked over and casually took the thermal container from my hands.

"No need. That thing was worthless anyway. Now that your artwork’s here, this whole office feels elevated."

As he walked toward her, he brushed past me carelessly, knocking me off balance. I fell hard.

The nails from the broken frame jabbed into my palm. Blood surged out instantly, the sting sharp enough to send cold sweat running down my back.

I bit my lip and tried to push myself up. But just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pair of pink underwear tossed carelessly in the corner.

It felt as if an invisible hand clutched my chest, squeezing tighter and tighter, leaving me breathless.

But Stephen didn’t notice the blood dripping from my palm. Nor did he see the pink underwear, Eleanor’s, the one he had taken off himself.

Instead, when she looked up at him with teary eyes and a pout, saying, “Stephen, there were peanuts in the oatmeal. I’m severely allergic… I could’ve died,” he immediately scowled.

Without hesitation, he slammed the oatmeal I had spent an hour preparing into the trash.

Then, glancing at me, still sprawled on the floor, he let out a cold scoff.

“Stop pretending to be fragile, Victoria. Get up and clean that ugly painting. And don’t you dare put peanuts in the food again.”

With that, he turned and took Eleanor out to enjoy a Michelin breakfast.

My entire body trembled. The pain in my palm throbbed harder, and warm tears finally spilled from my eyes.

Later that evening, at Eleanor’s celebration banquet, I saw him take her hand, refusing to let her carry even the smallest bag.

“Your hands create art, they should be treated like a goddess’s.”

And yet I had spent half my life tending to him like a maid, scrubbing, cooking, enduring, and no one ever asked if I was okay when I bled.

When I got home, I casually dabbed some ointment on my bleeding hand, then began sorting through all the gifts Stephen had ever given me.

Every holiday, he would buy things in twos. I used to think it was generosity until I checked his social media through a hidden account and saw the truth. Everything he ever gave me, he also gave to Eleanor. Not one thing was meant solely for me.

He simply couldn’t bear for her to go without.

By the time I finished sorting, the sun was already dipping. I didn’t even have time to fix my disheveled hair before rushing off to pick up my first-grade grandson, Henry.

When Henry walked out with his classmates, a few boys nearby pointed and snickered, "Hey, Henry, is that your grandma?"

His face flushed instantly. With panic in his eyes, he shouted, "No, she’s our housekeeper!"

"This is my grandma, she’s a famous sculptor!"

Henry held up a fashion magazine photo of Eleanor looking elegant and stylish. My head buzzed loudly.

My head went numb. This was the boy I had raised with my own hands.

While my son and his wife were busy managing the business with Stephen, I had changed every diaper, nursed every fever, and sung every lullaby, and now he denied me.

And now, I was nothing but his shame.

In the car, Henry kept his head down the entire ride. He either stared at his shoes or watched the world blur past the window as if afraid I might scold him.

But this time, I said nothing. No nagging, no lectures. I just sat there in silence, mocking the pitiful woman I had become.

When we pulled up to my son's house, Henry kicked at the curb as he climbed out, his voice barely a whisper. "Grandma, aren’t you mad?"

I looked at him, my gaze steady and calm. "Henry, do you want a different grandma? If you do, I’ll help you get what you want."

###3

I tossed him to the nanny and drove off without glancing back.

When I got home, worn down to the bone, the first thing I saw was the piano dumped carelessly on the lawn like garbage.

Inside, Arthur stood by the door, dragging in several large suitcases.

“Mom, Aunt Eleanor will be staying in the country for a while, so she’ll be living here. She doesn’t like noise, so I cleared out your music room to make a sculpture studio for her.”

I stared at him, his face distant and cold. At that moment, I realized I no longer belonged. I was just some unsightly remnant, awkward and out of place, stubbornly lingering where I wasn’t wanted.

That piano, his eighth birthday gift to me, was bought with all his New Year’s money.

He used to sit beside me, giggling in the sunlight, hands on the keys, clinging to my arm and saying, “I love Mommy the most.” That little boy had vanished into time.

Swallowing the ache in my chest, I forced a smile through the tears that threatened to spill.

“Arthur, this is how you treat your mother now.”

A flicker of unease crossed his face, awkward, almost guilty. And just then, soft footsteps echoed from behind him.

Stephen stepped into the yard with Eleanor beside him, his expression cold and identical to Arthur’s as he looked straight at me.

“Eleanor’s afraid of the dark. Your room gets the most sunlight. Please move out and let her stay there.”

I lowered my gaze and nodded. “Alright. I’ll move all my things out.”

They had expected resistance, perhaps tears or a tantrum. But my calm reply caught him off guard, and his face stiffened with surprise.

“Victoria—”

“Victoria, you’re so sweet! Then let’s get along well during this time,” Eleanor cut in with a sugary smile.

I didn’t spare them a second glance. I turned, climbed the stairs, and headed to the bedroom.

There, I bent down and quietly dragged out one heavy bag after another. Every item I packed carried years of silence, sacrifice, and dust.

When I tossed thirty years of memories into the trash truck, Stephen followed me out, brows furrowed.

“Why are you throwing away so much?”

“Just old junk I’ll never use again.”

He eyed me warily, unsettled by the eerie calm in my voice. He reached into one bag and froze.

“These… these are the gifts I gave you.”

I smiled faintly. “Things from decades ago should’ve been thrown out a long time ago.”

Just like certain people.

Stephen’s face tightened, displeased. “You used to treasure them…”

Yes, as long as it was a gift from him, I used to light up like a child, clutching it to my chest, promising I’d treasure it forever.

Back then, Stephen would glance at me and feel an inexplicable warmth bloom in his chest.

But forever was far too long. A heart soaked in betrayal couldn’t carry its weight.

I brushed past him without pause. “There’s someone new in the house now. You’ve never liked a crowd, have you?”

He opened his mouth, perhaps to explain that Eleanor was only staying temporarily, but I had already turned away and loaded everything into the car.

He let out a sigh. “There’s a banquet tonight. You haven’t been out in a while, why not come along with Eleanor.”

He hadn’t invited me to a formal event in years. Ever since I gained weight, he had stopped taking me anywhere that mattered.

At the banquet, the two of them stepped out of the car first.

The host beamed with admiration. “President Mortimer, your wife is still as beautiful as she was in her youth.”

Stephen didn’t correct him. With a smile, he naturally took the mistress’s hand.

“Thank you.”

“And this lady is…?”

Only then did he glance my way. There was a brief flicker, and then he looked away. “She’s our assistant.”

I stood frozen in place. Even though his answer didn’t surprise me, it still felt like someone had torn my heart wide open.

Swallowing the sting in my eyes, I lifted my head and walked into the banquet with what remained of my dignity.

Eleanor clung to Stephen’s arm, swirling her wine glass as they mingled effortlessly among the glittering crowd, like a true couple of high society.

And I stood at a distance, watching it all unfold as if I were just a passing shadow. The laughter, the glamour, none of it belonged to me.

Then, suddenly, a searing pain shot through my injured right calf.

###4

In an instant, cold sweat drenched my back.

The lingering injury from the accident flared again, my previously fractured leg sending waves of pain with every heartbeat. I had no choice but to borrow a room to rest.

But all the organizers gave me was a cold, pitch-dark utility closet.

The moment I stepped inside, I heard a sharp “click” from the outside. The lock.

“Stephen has always loved me. You pitiful woman who threw herself at him, so what if you were married for decades? He never loved you!”

Outside, Eleanor’s voice rang with cruel delight.

“You saw it yourself, didn’t you? I sat in the front passenger seat next to Stephen tonight. This couture gown I’m wearing? A gift from your daughter. This limited-edition Cartier watch? Your son bought it for me. They all adore me, not you!”

My leg throbbed with unbearable pain. Drenched in sweat, I rattled the door, my voice shaking.

“You can have him and them, all of them! Just let me go to the hospital. I’m begging you!”

“Stop dreaming. I won’t let you out to steal the spotlight. Tonight, stay here and learn your place.”

Then, she hung a “Do Not Disturb – Under Maintenance” sign on the handle. The click of her heels echoed down the hall, growing fainter with every step.

I collapsed onto the cold floor, drained and defeated. Reaching for my phone, I realized with horror it was dead.

“Help me!”

I slammed my fists against the locked door, shouting until my voice broke, but the room was too remote, the night too quiet. No one came.

In the end, the pain consumed me, and everything faded to black.

Two hours later, when the banquet had ended, Stephen still hadn’t seen me. He looked around with a frown of irritation.

“Didn’t I tell her to behave and stay put? Where did she run off to?”

Eleanor clung to his arm, biting her lip with feigned guilt. “Did she leave because you called me your wife? If I’d known she’d be hurt, I would’ve explained it to her.”

But Stephen only replied with a scoff.

“Everyone tonight was high society. Do you really think her disheveled look wouldn’t have embarrassed me? Eleanor, I’m grateful you were by my side. You helped me save face.”

“Victoria is always so dramatic. Let her sulk. Let’s go home.”

Eleanor glanced smugly toward the utility room, the corner of her lips lifting in silent triumph.

And I was locked away in that dark room, was left forgotten. Not a single soul in that family remembered me.

The next morning, when Henry had to be taken to school, my son finally remembered I existed.

“Why isn’t she here yet? Do you even know what time it is?!”

But when my phone went unanswered, he didn’t bother calling again.

Instead, he waved it off and told the nanny to take Henry.

I was finally let out by a hotel staff member.

After charging my phone, there were no messages from Stephen asking where I was or expressing concern. What I did see was a blaring headline lighting up the screen.

[The long-absent Mrs. Mortimer, wife of the Mortimer Group president, turns out to be a renowned sculptor. A match made in heaven, a truly gifted man and elegant woman.]

Weak and numb, I stared at the screen and gave a bitter smile.

Then my phone rang.

For a fleeting second, I thought maybe it was Stephen.

But no. The name flashing on the screen was Edmund. I picked up, and his voice came through instantly, tight with worry.

“Victoria, I called you all night! What the hell happened? Are you alright now?”